The Bitterness of Blend 102
by Ronnen
Summary: We know very little of Godot the man and therein lies the journey. Diego Armando travels the pathway to Hell and back again. This is his story of "death", revenge, and revival. M for sensuality and brief sexual dialog. Mia Fey / Diego Armando "Miego"
1. Paradiso

**Disclaimer:** The word pairings and gut-feelings are mine, the characters belong to _Capcom_. :D

**Mature **warning due to brief sensuality and sexual dialog.

Miego, all the way!

**Song for this chapter:** _The Commodores **– **Brick House_

* * *

He was sitting naked in the sunlight, just as he always did after a night of ferocious lovemaking. A hot cup of coffee in his favorite white mug adorned his right hand like a ridiculous ceramic bird. This was a seemingly constant accessory. She had insisted on washing it the night before to his dismay, but she'd made it worth his while; and he hadn't been disappointed.

The fragrance of his favorite dark roast blend wafted over her like a dense cloud, chocolate and hazelnut with a hint of citrus. The aroma was a tantalizing reminder of her lover's presence, one that drifted in his wake almost everywhere. At the office she tended to track him this way, though, his sharp laugh almost always preceded him. His energy and passion seemed amplified by the coffee he constantly drank. She chuckled inwardly as this thought, imagining him "taking a day off" from his beverage of choice.

Her name was Mia Fey, best known for her work as a defense attorney for the Grossberg Law Offices. Her secondary calling was beyond law and purely supernatural—she was a renowned spirit medium descending from an ancestral line of spiritualists. However, if this fact were ever to be made public, she knew she'd be made a laughing stock by prosecutors and co-attorneys alike.

Thus, this was a secret she kept closely hidden, except for her magatama, an object not only of personal significance but also spiritual in nature. The magatama—a violet nine-shaped amethyst—when imbued with spiritual energy, could be used as a valuable channeling tool. To most it was seen as a family symbol, a trinket passed down to the daughters of the Fey line. But to those who knew, her pendant was a symbol of great power and prestige; it was the symbol of the Kurain Channeling Technique, only known by her ancestors and self.

However, Mia had left that all behind when her mother had vanished after the DL-6 Incident. She'd become a lawyer solely for this purpose, driven to find the answers to her mother's enigmatic disappearance. Besides, channeling wasn't the life for her—her sister Maya Fey's spiritual potential was much greater.

Mia was glad she'd left the small Kurain Village for the city anyway—it had led her to the Grossberg Law Office, where Mr. Grossberg himself had hired her. She had the pleasure and opportunity to work alongside Diego Armando for the first time, the best attorney in the country as well as her current lover. He had charmed her from the moment she'd first encountered him, despite his arrogance. His saucy sense of humor and lopsided grin never failed to bring a smile to her face. And through working together, they'd become more than close friends. Mia couldn't imagine life without Diego—he was her constant, her comfort, her friend, and her lover.

When she'd first met him, she was skeptical of his brash behavior, mistaking it for competition. Their first year together had been spent in a bitter rivalry, both vying for Mr. Grossberg's ultimate approval. This had ended unexpectedly as, in an act of desperation, Mr. Grossberg had assigned Diego as Mia's legal council on the day of her first trial. As her defendant, Mr. Terry Fawles, took the stand for unprecedented murder, Mia had unexpectedly turned the case on its head with Diego's help, naming one Ms. Dahlia Hawthorne—the defendant's ex-girlfriend—as the mastermind behind the incident. As the trial drew to a close and the verdict was to be announced, Mr. Fawles poisoned himself to protect Dahlia, ultimately stifling the case and declaring the young woman's innocence. This had left an impressionable wound on Mia's heart and she had refused to defend another case again.

During the next three months, Diego became Mia's confidant, a loving guardian who coaxed her out of her suffocating depression. He spent every night by her side, holding her hand as she shed her few tears, eventually banishing them completely with his silent understanding. He'd cradle her until she fell asleep and hold her when she suffered from nightmares, talking soothingly and stroking her hair until she dozed off again.

Mia came to love him then, relying on him for support at first, but eventually respecting him as her equal in all things. She saw him as a Godsend and it was he who had delivered her from her past when she couldn't shake her feelings of regret and self-loathing. Mia then understood that his confidence had been a façade to impress her; that he had admired her quick wit and sharp mind all along.

She allowed the thoughts of her past to fade as her eyes wandered over Diego.

The sun bathed his body in a soft golden light, accentuating his muscular legs and buttocks. Mia couldn't help but allow herself a private smile—he had the best ass she'd ever seen.

Diego leaned back in his chair, his dark brown hair smoothed back untidily—how it always looked so perfect even after a night of sex she never knew. His face glowed in the wash of light, dark eyes shaded by his heavy brow.

"'Morning, my little 'Sex Kitten'. Got some extra beauty sleep today, I see."

He eyed her up and down as he smirked into his steaming cup of coffee. He turned back to their terrace and resumed watching over the hustle and bustle below their city apartment. Her cheeks reddened slightly, feeling quite naked even though she was clothed in her regular work outfit.

"You know," he grinned, "you always look sexy in your business suit. You're so hot you'd burn a cup of my coffee."

He took a sip, relaxing with a quiet sigh.

"It makes me want you even more."

His voice was laden with the same tireless desire she was all too familiar with. He'd read her mind. She could feel the heated tension between them as she bridged the short distance across the kitchen, straddling his disrobed figure.

"I know you'd have me for hours if I let you," she smirked, slipping her tongue between his lips. He always tasted like honey, despite the bitter coffee he regularly consumed. She brushed the tips of her fingers along his dark stubble, taking in the richness and longing of his beautiful brown eyes. His phallus was stiff between her thighs, tight against his stomach like a dark pillar as she pressed against him.

"However," she paused dramatically, the sexual tension making her wish she would stop what she was about to say, "Since we both have work to do, it's not the time. You'll just have to wait until we're home for the night. Maybe it'll stop you from working so late."

He groaned loudly, slumping against the back of the chair.

"You get off on torturing me. I should have known you were a sadist the first day I let eyes on you."

His eyes followed her as she stood, shimmying her dress back down to where it belonged.

"You know me well I see," she smiled innocently, stealing a sip from his outstretched mug. "Now get dressed. You have to be to work on time, just like the rest of us."

"Ha…! You underestimate me again, Kitten. We shall see who is first to arrive at the law office today!"

Mia waved absently over her shoulder as she turned, slipping into her white loafers.

"Well, I'm not waiting for you to get ready. I'll take the train. See you at work, Diego. And try to keep the snake in its cage this time."

As the door clicked shut behind her Diego stood, stretching lazily as he sauntered towards the bedroom. Leaving without a kiss? Maybe she really _was_ a sadist.

* * *

Today was the day. Diego nervously thumbed the ring in his pocket. _This damn thing's gonna burn its way all the way through by the time I'm off work!_

He'd been planning his proposal to Mia for some time—she was his ideal woman in every way he could think of. He grinned and kicked a small rock with the tip of his gloss black shoe. It skittered away into the nearby bushes as he entered the complex's small parking lot.

Cars whistled by along the busy street. Traffic was already bad. The salty pungent tang of pollution created a smoky haze over the rooftops, limiting the light from the sun to a dim orange glow. He breathed in deeply. _Ahhh…nothing like the smell of exhaust to make your day complete. _

He knew he was one of the few who could aptly appreciate city life. He loved the abundance in culture, people, and foods. Most of all, he loved how every nook seemingly teemed with people. The tiny cafes, the crowded farmer's market, the eclectic variant of nationalities—all of it connected to the city like a functioning limb. Even though not all human intentions were pure, it made each day an exciting new experience.

Diego saw himself as a protector, a keeper of the peace; to defend the innocent and to subject the guilty to their just fate. It wasn't about the verdict—it was about the true intent of the person involved. That's what Mia always told him: "You have a talent at seeing into people's hearts. You choose to see the good in everyone first before the evil."

He supposed this was true, but this trait had never been obvious to him. He loved how Mia showed him his strengths when all he could see were his weaknesses. She truly completed him in every sense of the word.

Unlocking the door to his '89 Honda, he slid his briefcase onto the passenger's seat, perching his fourth cup of coffee in the oversized cup holder beside him; he'd had it made especially for his favorite mug. He realized he'd have to buy a twin to his mug soon if Mia were to be his bride. He couldn't always share!

As he backed out of the near-empty parking lot, Diego mulled over the newest case he'd been assigned. Another murder. He shook his head, sick of dealing with the colorful array of new evidence and details. It all ended the same way, however. The victim died. An innocent was usually indicted and the murderer tried to cover up his mistake. This truly was a backwards system. But that's where he came in. It was his job to weed out truth from lies, unlike prosecutors who simply wanted the guilty verdict.

He fiddled with the steering wheel as he tried to remember whom he'd be investigating today. What was her name…? Ah, Dahlia Hawthorne. He didn't have to meet with her for several more hours though, so he had time to swing by the office. His breathed in contentedly as he imagined Mia there, already poised behind her desk working on gathering evidence into congruent files. She was so cute when she worked. He often snuck up to watch.

"You better not have beaten me there, Kitten," he muttered aloud, his thoughts returning to his plans for the night. Mia and himself were to dine at the top of the space needle. This restaurant was rather exclusive anymore, however, so he'd had to book two months out. He was flying Mia to Seattle tonight just for this special occasion. He'd already 'okayed' the next day off with Grossberg and had their stay scheduled at the Hotel Andra. His mind spun as he imagined her reaction. She would say "yes", of course. And the sex—ah! The sex. After their rendezvous that morning, he was sure they would use their bed for anything but sleeping.

He couldn't keep his mind from wandering. Suddenly, his slacks seemed very tight in the crotch.

"Ah, the affect you have on me; and you know it too," he smirked.

Tonight was their night. Tonight would be a night to remember.


	2. Purgatorio

To his dismay, Mia had arrived at the office first. He shrugged off his coat as he passed the receptionist's desk.

"Hey there, Margaret. How's she floating?"

"Oh, Mr. Armando! Good morning! You seem to be in an especially cheerful mood today," she winked.

Margaret was Mr. Grossberg's wife, a kindly middle-aged woman with salt and pepper hair and sparkling blue eyes. Though she was now slightly plump and beginning to wrinkle, Diego thought she would have at one time been quite a catch.

"Ha…! This woman knows me."

"Is it…today?" she asked in hushed tones, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she leaned closer.

Diego grinned broadly, slapping the desk with his empty hand.

"That it is…but don't let anything on. You know Mia. She's a sharp little cookie."

Margaret nodded, shuffling a pile of papers into an orderly stack. Diego looked cautiously both ways before producing the ring from his pocket. It was a white gold band twisting around an array of garnets and diamonds, both his and Mia's birthstones. Margaret gaped, stifling a small gasp as she leaned in to examine the delicate ring, her eyes wide with merriment.

"I'm sure she'll love it. It's a beautiful ring, Diego! You're a man of taste. She'll be beside herself, especially with the trip you've been planning. It will be beautiful, oh! I wish I could be there to see her face light up!" She sighed, a wistful smile on her thin pink lips. "But, we'll catch up more on this later. Marvin would like a word with you about your client today. I believe he's at the coffee machine."

"Good man, Marvin. Beat me to my favorite spot. I'll be back before the end of the day to discuss some of the closing details. See you, Margaret."

With that, he turned down the narrow corridor towards the small kitchenette and lounge. Marvin Grossberg stood hunched over the small coffee maker, shaking the cheap plastic machine with frustrated vigor. He reminded Diego of a small fat rodent. The analogy made Diego smile inwardly.

The young attorney sauntered up behind his superior, slapping the large man center on his protruding buttocks without missing a stride.

"Marvin! Good morning! How are the hemorrhoids fairing?"

Marvin Grossberg jumped in surprise, his black eyes wide with shock.

"D…Diego? Wh…what in the world was that all about, young man?!" he sputtered, his face mottled red with both anger and shock.

"Ah, what's the matter with a morning spank between two old friends?"

Marvin eyed him suspiciously, turning back to his steaming mug of black Folgers. He emptied a packet of sugar into the cup's oily depths and took a short, measured sip. He sighed, shaking his head as he leaned his girth against the small counter.

"Diego…there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he began. "Now, I don't want you to think ill of me for asking nor do I want you to feel as though this is an insult. You see, it's been weighing heavily on my mind of late…and I just haven't had the courage to ask." He paused, his eyes filled with brevity as he raised them to meet Diego's gaze. "Are you…I mean to say…well…are you gay?"

Diego uproarious laughter filled the tiny room. He bent in two, gripping a knee as he fought an urge to fall to the floor. This was the first time anyone had proposed such an outlandish perception—and to his face at that! He straightened after he'd finished expressing his amusement, wiping the mirth from his brown eyes.

"I assure you, Marvin, I'm quite the opposite. I have only ever been attracted to women. In fact, I'm planning on proposing to one tonight."

Marvin's eyes bulged in surprise.

"But…but I was almost sure you were—well, who is the lucky lady? Do I know her? Diego, she'd better be a woman of worth, otherwise I will most certainly disapprove and—"

Diego interrupted him.

"It's Mia, my old friend." He sighed contentedly. "I'm going to ask her tonight over dinner. You wondered why I wanted the next day off, didn't you? I wouldn't just leave in the middle of an investigation on a whim. I'm a better man than that. I hope you've noticed by now."

Marvin chuckled, wagging his finger mischievously at Diego.

"Oh, you sly dog! All this time…and to think I didn't even notice! Mia's always been one for secrets. Ah well, found out I have! And to think, you two will soon be engaged. What a smart match! My two best defense attorneys, married. What a thought that is…what a thought indeed."

Diego filled his cup, taking a long swig. His face screwed up in distaste as he downed the first mouthful.

"Marvin, what is this trash doing in my hand? It's sewage, absolutely terrible!" He took another drink, shaking his head.

"Well, if you think it's so disgusting, why keep drinking it?!"

Diego smiled.

"Though distasteful, it's a shame to waste any bean, no matter the condition of the roast. I'll drink this coffee to the last drop. It's a bitter cup we drink, life. No matter what's brewed, we take what we're served. We can only move on to the next cup once the one in front of us is completely empty."

Marvin rolled his eyes, turning to refill his mug.

"You never cease to surprise me with your ridiculous analogies, Diego. I hope Mia's able to put up with it as well as I do—Lord knows she'll have her patience cut out for her in more ways than one! But, that's enough for now. I'm sure you're interested in the investigation of Ms. Hawthorne. As you know, she was involved in _that_ incident a few months ago."

"Yes," he growled, skimming the dark oily surface of his drink with the tip of his finger. "That incident. The woman's a snake of the worst kind—and hiding in a Kitten's clothing at that. Her pretty face hides a rotten core."

"Let's continue this conversation in my office. I have some paperwork I want you to take with as well as some questions I'd like you to ask."

Marvin waddled briskly down the red-carpeted hall entering a small corner room to the left. The leather groaned as he seated himself in the plush chair poised regally behind an expensive mahogany work desk. Diego, though he was in Marvin Grossberg's office often enough, admired the library of old law books nestled in the wall behind the desk, distracting himself from the white elephant in the room—an enormous, rather hideously executed painting of a farmer. Grossberg had an affectation of surrounding himself with symbols of wealth. However, it would have been in bad taste to leave the office looking plain simply for the sake of business—their clientele were always pandering after illusions of grandeur.

He seated himself adjacent to Mr. Grossberg on the leather couch, resting his cup of coffee on a knee as his eyes lazily paced the width of the room.

"Well, we both well know this young lady and her involvement in past crimes," Marvin began, "But what I don't understand is why she so suddenly contacted us—namely you—to speak with. I know Mia left a large impression on her after February's trial. And Mia's not an easy nut to crack. You're my best attorney and the only one I'd consider trusting with this beside myself. Regardless, I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. This little lady is dangerous to say the least and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. Those who get in her way are quickly disposed of. Be on your guard, Diego. This investigation of yours—private though it may be—seems fishy to me.

Diego nodded, studying a loose string on his trouser pants.

"I know this woman is a criminal through and through. But, I want to hear her out first. I don't understand why she'd contact us so suddenly, especially me. I agree, the circumstances are strange—but I think she could end up being a valuable piece to the puzzle. That case left a bad taste in my mouth. Even more so since Mia refuses to take the stand again. I'll get to the bottom of this, whether or not it isn't pretty—Lord knows, that little Jezebel is far from dainty, though her outer appearance may allude to it. Perhaps her guilt has finally overcome her. I refuse to let her slip through my grasp again, especially on my own terms. After what she did to her father, her sister—and to Mia; it makes my blood boil. I'll meet with her and I'll glean what I can; but I assure you, it will be enough.

"Alright, Diego. Just watch your back, son. This belle has a bite to her. I know your motivations span beyond your own curiosity, especially now that I know the true nature between your relationship with Ms. Fey. Anger isn't the right way about such a delicate situation. The one with the coolest head will win this tête-à-tête."

Marvin curled his graying moustache with the tip of his right index finger as he traced the grain of the wood on his desk.

"Anyway," he sighed, "since you're so determined to do this—and I very well know how you are when you're determined—there's a few things I want you to go over with Dahlia. See if you can't bridle a bit of information out of her. You'll be at the courthouse so I expect things to go pretty smoothly between you. I highly doubt it, but she may have had a change of heart and is ready to admit to what happened in the past. Though she's been officially declared innocent of her sister's murder, she may just need to share her tale with someone in the law to get it off her chest. Either way, if she decides to strike again, we'll have started building our case.

"Do you think I'm some rookie? Ha…! Maybe there is something left for you to learn of me yet my friend. I'll have that woman eating out of my hand. I have a way with little kitties, even the wild ones. I'll be back with half a case before your hemorrhoids can spit," he smirked over the rim of his cup as he rose to depart.

Retrieving Ms. Hawthorne's case files from Marvin's desk, he offered his superior a mock salute, and then strode out of the office.

"I didn't know hemorrhoids could spit," Marvin muttered abashedly as he resumed his work.

* * *

"_What a joke,"_ Diego thought to himself as he left Marvin's office. _"Me? Unprepared? Ha…! I always play it safe. He should know better than to doubt me."_

As he sulked over Marvin's supposed discredit, he turned his brooding thoughts to Mia. She was his stalemate, the cure to his mental blockage. He stopped at the doorway to their shared office, watching intently as her fingers danced over the computer keyboard. The tapping of the keys softly brought him back to awareness. Pushing his personal matters aside he watched Mia work. It was therapeutic.

He loved the way she sat to straight in her chair, so attentive and involved in the task at hand. When she was focused—which was almost always—she had a fierceness about her, a resolve that revealed her strength in character and sharp wit. He grinned broadly, reminded once again why he had been so attracted to her in the first place. That fire had never ceased to amaze him, be it in the courtroom, or in bedroom. Rapping lightly against the doorpost, he announced his presence.

Mia's eyes darted up from the monitor. She smiled modestly.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, but not here and not now, little kitty," he smirked.

"Diego," she said tensely, her eyes flashing a warning. "This is hardly the place, may I remind you? You and I are co-workers and hardly involved in an office romance. Can it now or risk the consequences."

"Raaaawnr, this tabby's got a bite," he growled playfully, slinking up to her desk with a hitch in his step. He moved slowly behind her, sweeping the brown wave of her hair aside and stooping to graze the nape of her neck with his lips. She shuddered gently as he breathed along her hairline, planting a gentle kiss behind her left ear.

"Now you can't tell me you don't like that," he whispered, amazed she had let him offend her personal space so utterly.

And as quickly as it had come, it ended. She turned and slapped him full across the face, her mouth set in an angry line. He stumbled back—stunned—with a shocked grin. He shook his head slowly, letting out a hoot of amazement.

"You'll get us both fired, you idiot! Don't you understand the repercussions of your actions? What if someone had walked by? We'd both be out of a job," she hissed, her eyes seething.

"Take it easy, Kitten! You took out your claws before I had a chance to speak!"

"You weren't doing a whole lot of speaking with those lips of yours. In fact—"

He cut in suddenly.

"Calm down. I've already spoken to Marvin, Mia. It's okay. He's fine with our dating as long as we keep it appropriate, and I hardly see a kiss as high treason. Besides, can you blame me? You've got me fired up, little lady—especially after your little stunt this morning."

Mia's temper cooled considerably at this. She turned with a nearly inaudible sigh, drooping into her open palm as she mulled over this revelation. Her body seemed to sag and tense all at once, as though she were unsure whether or not to be relieved or somehow worried. Diego decided to play it safe and stand a few feet back. She'd made it clear she'd needed her space.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Diego. I guess there's been a lot on my mind today. That girl—ugh. This is such a mess! You know how I feel about Dahlia. And I hate how you're going alone—I don't see why you won't let me come with you! I'm just as capable as—"

"You're not, Mia. The past is still too fresh in your mind. And let's face it, that case six months ago left you disconcerted to say the least. You've only just started to put this behind you; this isn't the time to bring it back around."

"I know," she admonished, "I just…I just want this. I'm so nervous right now, who knows what she's going to say? I know you can take care of yourself, I just don't trust her."

Diego smiled softly, touching her cheek with his free hand.

"That's not the first time I've heard that today Kitten, believe me. It's all going to be fine, you'll see. Besides, now that our relationship's been made public, it's okay for me to do this..."

He stepped in close, touching his lips tentatively to hers, allowing her to control their kiss. It began soft and slow but became increasingly passionate. His heart thudded loudly in his ears as he felt heat rise to his skin. He cradled her head with one hand, leaning into the warmth of her face. But she broke off the connection then, sensing the limit to his control.

"You're so cliché," she said, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her desk. "Not to mention such a _man_. And that isn't meant as flattery."

"That's what you like about me, don't forget it," he smiled, moving towards the open door.

"What am I going to do with you? You're going to be the death of me," Mia sighed.

"Me? I could never capably kill such a wonderful woman," he retorted. He then waved his free hand, winking slyly.

"See you later, Kitten. I shouldn't be gone for long. Then we can pick up where we left off in this lovely 'conversation' perhaps over a nice glass of champagne."

"Goodbye Diego, I'll be on the edge of my seat until the moment you return," she said sarcastically. He, however, dissected a hint of seriousness to her tone that could only serve to ascertain her doubt.

After a quick refill at the coffee machine and another foul face at the first sip, Diego left the building, his black coat and briefcase tossed archaically over one shoulder. He swung the keys for his Honda absentmindedly around one finger, the rest of his hand occupied by its stand-by cup of joe.

Turning the ignition and signaling onto 6th Avenue towards the courthouse, it hadn't occurred to him that he hadn't told Mia how much he loved her before parting ways. Then again, not even Diego Armando could have guessed what lay in wait disguised as a crimson-tress angel.

He quite blindly and naively drove straight into Dahlia Hawthorne's coolly laid trap, not a thought of doubt in his mind.

* * *

**A/N: **Not so happy with Chapter Two--I'm sure I'll rework it later. Hope you're enjoying so far! Please critique--every time you leave a critique, Godot smiles. (Which may not be such a good thing, as his smiles likely are instant death to innocent kittens, no pun intended.) ;D

I'll be starting Chapter Three on the morrow. Please catalog your thoughts! 8D

**Song for this chapter:** _Cake - Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps_

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	3. Inferno

The courthouse cafeteria was cramped with lunch-goers eager for a quick meal during court recess. As several trials were almost always cycling throughout the day, meals were infrequent and quite valuable to hungry courtroom members and onlookers alike.

A disheveled line of suited men and women meandered around the outside perimeter of the large, white room. A judge, several attorneys, and a handful of recognizable prosecutors chattered idly amid their peers, distracting themselves from hungry bellies with good-spirited drabble. However, the loud chatter between dining patrons echoed noisily enough through the cafeteria that any particular conversation was indistinguishable from the next.

The dining hall was the size of a gymnasium, filled with neat rows of four-person tables. The linoleum floor glistened coldly beneath the skylighted ceiling, casting a sterile luminescent wash upon the oblivious diners. Broad-leafed tropical plants stretched skyward from large rectangular planters, acting to divide the room into even quarters. This feigned the effect of privacy to the more reclusive nibblers.

The smell of diluted cleaner, refrigerated air, old bacon, stale bread, and pasta salad permeated the room with an eclectic and relatively distasteful odor. Diego wondered how anyone could maintain an appetite in such a fragrant atmosphere. He wrinkled his nose, tossing a few quarters in the direction of the cashier as he made a beeline for the drink bar.

He parked himself directly in front of two beakers filled with his favorite steaming brown liquid. Reaching instinctively for the left, Diego paused, realizing someone had unintentionally placed the Decaf on the Regular burner. He frowned, gripping the smooth black plastic handle of the pot on his right, shaking his head in disgust.

"Decaf is a waste of a good bean," he muttered to no one in particular. "Why strip the fruit of its oil, of its essence, simply to feign a taste? It's not the same. It's a mockery of the real thing. And to crown and place it on the rightful one's throne? Ha…! What insolence."

Diego switched the two beakers to their rightful places, orange handle on the right, and black handle on the left. He sipped down the hot liquid from the brim, turning away from the sugar dusted, cream splattered bar. To pollute one's cup, rooted in darkness, with the lightness of milk and the sweetness of sugar was to shame the drink. A cup straight from the machine—this was how nature intended it. The bitterness was a reminder of life's taste, unadulterated and harsh as it was meant to be.

He scanned the crowded mass of eaters for the woman he had promised to meet with; Dahlia Hawthorne, a real wolf in sheep's clothing. Almost immediately, he spotted her.

She sat at an unoccupied table sheltered by the thick green leaves of the rainforest plants in her usual light pink lace and tulle. Resting her parasol in the crook of her left shoulder, she observed those around her with a placid smile. Dahlia's brown eyes serenely swept the room, settling on Diego like the touch of a light fog. As he met her coffee ground eyes he felt suddenly cold, as though he was being suffocated by the malice of her presence. How such a delicate girl could raise the hackles on the back of his neck, he never knew.

"Miss Hawthorne," Diego grinned warmly, setting his briefcase and coat down on an empty chair. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Of course not, Mr. Attorney," she said gently, tilting her head to the side.

He pulled back the chair, resting his cup on the table.

"Well now, Ms. Hawthorne, it's been some time. And I might add you look as pretty as ever. The flowers you so love couldn't hold a candle to you."

A wisp of a smile ghosted over her blush pink lips.

"Mr. Attorney, you flatter me. I'm such a simple girl. I don't change violently like the seasons do."

"_You've got that right. Your heart is always as cold as ice,"_ he thought behind clenched teeth.

He rolled the mug impatiently between his palms, staring holes into the "delicate petal" of a woman seated across from him. She met his hard gaze, blinking uninterestedly.

"Well, I know for a fact you are no simpleton. You are a woman of character and wit; you just hide it well behind that beautiful face of yours."

Dahlia flipped her red mane behind her shoulder with the back of a ghostly pale hand, giving close study to one broken end.

"Well, I appreciate your kindness," she said daintily, "but I don't hold my 'wit' in high regard. If I had any sense, I wouldn't have been so flounced by Ms. Fey."

"You mean you didn't expect to get caught," he smirked.

Dahlia startled, blinking back tears as they flooded the corners of her hazelnut eyes. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

"You don't mean…you don't mean you think I did it, Mr. Attorney? I…I am innocent. I was even declared 'Not Guilty' when that terrible man took his life in front of everyone. What a terrible thing…it was…it was awful!"

Diego's smile instantly transformed into a hard-set line.

"Come now, Ms. Hawthorne. Enough with the pretenses and games. Why did you request to see me? What's the point of this meaninglessness? I want answers. Let's stop cajoling around the truth and get down to business. I know you wouldn't call me down here just to waste my time, would you?"

She tilted her chin to the side, her tears vanishing.

"Well…I…yes. That's right. I…wanted to tell you about something important. I didn't mention it at the trial because I was afraid of what they might think. That Miss Attorney was so sure that I'd murdered my own sister that I couldn't have said it without making myself look more suspicious. And I needed to tell somebody…to stop this from ever happening again.

He leaned forward onto one elbow, turning his head from side to side as he sipped his coffee.

"Pardon me for saying so, but that's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in quite some time. Though I must say, you are quite the performer, Dahlia. You said it yourself—the trial's over. You were found innocent. Why approach the matter after the case was done with? You'd have nothing to benefit from it, young lady. Besides, I'm an attorney, not a police officer. You should have taken it up with the local PD before confronting somebody like me.

"No! Please, Mr. Attorney, hear me out. This is very, very important and involves something besides that case. If I went to the police, they'd immediately suspect me for another crime! I'm coming to you because…well…I need a defense attorney before I make this information public."

Diego laughed, slamming down his cup hard on the wobbly dining table. Several nearby patrons jumped at the loud resounding 'bang', sneaking worried glances in his direction and whispering amongst themselves. He noticed, but glared unwaveringly at Dahlia.

"Ha…! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Hiring an attorney before there's even suspicion for a trial?"

He examined her coldly. Her eyes were filled with tears again, but he thought he caught a glimpse of desperation in her eyes. She fingered a small crystalline bottle necklace at the base of her throat, turning away from him.

"Fine then. Humor me," he scoffed, leaning back in his gray plastic chair. "What is this 'so-called' evidence of yours? And what does this have to do with the case from six months ago?"

"It's…something I saw. While I was…at the bridge. I…didn't know if I'd seen it or not…but…I just couldn't help but think it strange. I thought I saw…an old man."

"Seeing an old man is hardly something I'd deem as important—"

"You didn't let me finish, Mr. Attorney," she interrupted. "He had a body. The body of a woman. It was hard to tell, but I think she had brown hair. There was blood on her face and chest. She had a metal bracelet on her right wrist. He walked to the edge of the cliff and dropped her body into the river. I thought I'd imagined it after seeing that man kill my sister—I thought it was just a relapse of what I'd seen before.

"But Terry Fawles didn't drop your sister's body into the river. There's no way you could 'relapse' and mistake what you saw."

Dahlia cried out, bracing herself against her parasol as though expecting a blow.

"But I…I swear, I saw it! It was real…there was a man there! I…was mistaken. I didn't see the actual moment my sister was killed so maybe Mr. Fawles was innocent! Maybe that old man was the killer! Maybe he was responsible for two deaths that day!"

It sounded like she was telling the truth—and it looked like it too. But he couldn't be too sure.

"What did this man look like, Dahlia? And why didn't you bring this up in court?"

"I thought it wasn't real…I thought what I saw was a hallucination, so I didn't bring it up. As for the man, he was tall with a white mustache and beard. He was wearing a black cloak…besides that, I don't know. He was too far away for me to see clearly."

"So how did you see the bracelet then?"

"It was really dark on her wrist—maybe it wasn't a bracelet. It could have been a strip of fabric or maybe a wrist band. She wasn't wearing a coat so it was easy to see, even from far away."

Diego crossed his arms, staring into the dregs of his near-empty mug.

"So you saw an old man throwing this woman's body into the river. Why did the police never find another set of tracks from a vehicle?"

"I don't know, honestly. Maybe he was camping up there and the rain washed the tracks away? Maybe he left later on. He didn't necessarily have to come in by the road…"

"That region is mountainous. I found it hard to believe he 'rode his bike' all the way there carrying a body of a woman in tow. Sounds a mite suspicious to me."

"That doesn't change what I saw, Mr. Attorney," Dahlia pouted.

"Besides, I was going to—"

Dahlia's face went slack, draining of all color as she stared off beyond Diego.

"Ms. Hawthorne," Diego pressed flatly.

"N-no…it…it couldn't be," she whispered. "That…man…it's him! It's the man I saw that day!"

Diego scoffed, turning over his shoulder, allowing his eyes to wander the now shorter line of eaters. Sure enough, an older white haired man with facial hair stood patiently toward the back of the line. However, this man was short, even for a woman's standards, and quite recognizable. He was the very Judge that presided over the Fawles case almost six months ago.

Smirking, he turned back to face the young woman.

"That's the end of the line for you, little Kitty. That man's a Judge you'd know well. He's hardly what I'd call 'tall'. Now," he paused, taking a measured drink of the last of his coffee, "where were we?"

Dahlia's demeanor changed instantly.

"Mr. Attorney, I have a confession to make," she grinned evilly. "I killed my sister six months ago. I'm also responsible for that man Fawles' death. I wanted to let you know…before you died. Didn't that coffee taste the teensiest weensiest bit unusual to you? Maybe a little…watered down?"

Diego's blood went cold as the horror of realization sank in. Had she really poisoned him? It was hard for him to fathom. He stared into his mug, watching the inky residue slide around the cylindrical bottom of the cup like a dark slug. But then he remembered how close Mia had come to indicting Dahlia and her reason became clear. She wanted to avenger her honor against Mia in the most intimate and devious way she could fathom—and that was by removing her lover from the picture, her support and confidence. His vision flickered and he felt himself sway. It was almost like being drunk, but he knew that this feeling wasn't nearly as harmless.

"You—you didn't…"

"Oh, but I did, Mr. Attorney. I'll be seeing you later…maybe in the afterlife."

An icy sweat pooled on the surface of his skin, his telltale burgundy shirt sticking to his chest and arms. All the muscles in his body began to spasm and quake of their own accord. His hands flew to grip the edge of the table, his panicked breathing coming in unsteady gasps.

"Goodbye…Mr. Armando."

With that, Dahlia Hawthorne turned and left, gracefully weaving through the unsuspecting diners and out of the cafeteria.

Diego fought to remain upright, but could not keep himself that way for long. His favorite standby mug shattered into innumerable pieces on the linoleum as he braced against a particularly violent seizure. He wasn't far behind it.

He met the heartless floor with a grunt, thick saliva dripping from his mouth. He screamed as his stomach cramped and heaved. It felt as though his innards were being torn apart from the inside, every nerve engulfed in the revolting fire of pain. His fingers flew to his mouth, grazing the back of his throat as he attempted to empty his stomach. Dry heaving, he rolled onto his knees, praying that he could shake Dahlia's poison from its roots in his belly. He began to cry as he saw the fruit of his efforts—nothing but blood greedily stained the floor beneath his mouth.

A man was suddenly upon him, sounding very far away as he strung together a blur of hazy questions. Soon a whole group had amassed, cradling his forehead, chest and arms, searching his mouth and throat for possible blockage. Someone shouted, "Call an ambulance!" above the uproar, but five people already had their cell phones out and were punching in the simple digits.

Diego tried to speak, but no sound came. He wasn't sure if it was the capability of speech or his ears that had failed him, but either way, it was of no use. Tears streaked the sides of his gaunt face, blazing wet salty trails onto foreign hands and legs.

His chest burned for air. He arched his back, trying to draw a clean breath, but that only succeeded in splattering the onlookers with more of his lifeblood. After another flurry of coughs, he felt himself losing consciousness. A wave of nausea rolled over him, but he only tasted his metallic blood.

An object, round and metal, burned dimly in his right hand. Diego realized he had unconsciously retrieved Mia's ring from his pocket and was grasping it so tightly that the stones had cut through the skin of his palm. This gave him some measure of comfort until he felt himself losing sensation in his arm and was unable to clutch the small token any longer. He watched blearily—hopelessly—as it was swept into the panicked crowd.

A blur of business suits—gray, black, and white—rushed past his field of vision, all spilling into whiteness. It was as if his eyes were attracting all the light in the room. As the flash of blinding white subsided into blackness, he lost control of his basic motor functions. He wasn't sure if he screamed when all the colors of the world left him, only that he occupied an empty space in which nothing but pain resided.

"_Mia…don't cry…don't cry—because…it's not over…not over…yet…"_

He couldn't hear the cries and pleas of the people around him as his soul lost awareness. He couldn't feel them trying to save him. He didn't realize it when they packed him up and left him to sleep in the company of a wide array of machines. He couldn't hold Mia as she cried over his bedside.

He heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing—for now even the pain was gone.

Hell awaited him with open arms and he could do nothing to stop it.

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**A/N:** I would like to thank my AMAZING betas Revalations and Ayze for helping me proof my chapters! You guys rock! I'd also like to thank xStormyx for her support and charm and recommend you all check out her incredible PW stories!

That being said, this was a blast to write, though it pained my heart to do so. I felt like I died with Diego. :( It was very sad...

Kudos to those who catch the reference in Dahlia's "new information". It fits the timeline, I made sure of it.

**Song for this chapter:** _Guster - Lightning Rod_

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	4. Limbo

The keys clattered into the glass bowl on the table near the door. Mia sighed heavily, tossing her coat and purse onto the black leather couch. She walked into the kitchen, dumping the remains of her cold latte into the trash as she went through their mail.

**Diego A. Armando**  
**8514 E 412 N Apt 383**  
**Los Angeles, CA 90003-4535**

"He's not here anymore for you to bill," she frowned, flinging the unopened letter aside.

She flipped through the rest of the mail quickly, sorting billing statements from TV guides and loud colorful advertisements. Finding nothing else of consequence in the pile, she stuffed the remaining paper items into the almost full trashcan and trudged out of the kitchen towards her bedroom.

Mia cursed as she stubbed her toe on Diego's gym bag at the corner of the hallway. It had been forgotten in the shadow of the book shelf since its owner had slipped into a coma almost two months before.

The black duffel bag crumpled into the wall with a canvas sigh, revealing its cargo through the opened top pouch. An inflated basketball, Nike tennis shoes, an old navy blue hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of gray basketball shorts stared up at her hopefully from the dark innards of the pocket. This hadn't been the first time she'd tripped over the standby reminder of her lover's presence, but she just couldn't bring herself to move it.

Mia flinched as she remembered how Diego used to get up early every morning to run, how he'd meet his friends at the gym for a round of basketball before she'd even rolled out of bed. He'd return all smiles, his hair still wet from showering, to wake her with a soft kiss and a freshly brewed cup of coffee from the nearby café.

She could almost feel his lips on hers, his face still cold from being outside. He would curl up against her waking body, his hand stroking the skin along her cheek and arm. The remembered smell of his soft cologne against the darker shade of coffee woke the tears that lingered behind her eyes—his presence was still too fresh in her mind.

She zipped the bag hastily closed, rising suddenly to her feet to shake off the feeling of her grief. This accomplished nothing, however, but to succeed in making her nauseous. Her hands clenched at her sides as she forced down the urge to vomit. When had she last eaten? She couldn't remember and she didn't care.

Mrs. Grossberg—as she often did since the accident—had brought over lasagna two nights ago, but it still sat cold and untouched in her fridge. Food was unappealing to Mia at the moment and it showed. Her cheekbones stuck out awkwardly below her eyes, two stark peaks of gray against the pale white of her skin. Her ribcage poked out at the sides of her dress, but she hid this beneath a large wool pea coat when in public. To her shame, even her breasts had shrunken considerably under the unexpected strain of living alone.

Mia exhaled deeply as she crawled into her unmade bed. Unfriendly blue light bled in from the street, exaggerating the depth of every object in the room. She pinched her eyes closed as she shivered against the chilly maroon sheets. Drawing her knees to her chest to conserve warmth, she pressed her face into her pillow, attempting to focus on nothing.

All she wanted to do was forget—and sleep was the only way to escape the pain of her predicament, temporary though it may be.

She had been by his bedside every day since the poisoning, trying everything she could think of to coax Diego back from the abyss of sleep, even going so far as to have his favorite coffee fed to him via an intravenous tube. Her efforts, however, were all in vain. His brainwaves showed minimal activity—there was little hope of him returning to the surface of consciousness. However, Mia was not one to give up easily and stayed by his side consistently, only leaving for brief rounds of sleep and to sate her daily needs. Right now was the only time she allowed herself to forget. She vowed never to let Diego become just a memory—love was devotion, even at times when the odds were uneven.

As her breathing relaxed, Mia fell into a shallow sleep, her hand tightly gripping a corner of the sheet. She did not dream—as usual—but dove beneath her suffering into sea of nothingness where a frail sense of peace awaited her.

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"Anything new on his condition?" Mia questioned, the dark circles slightly abated beneath her honey brown eyes.

The nurse shook her head slowly, her mouth set in a grim line.

"No ma'am; I'll let you know as soon as we have any new information. We just did another brain scan this morning with no sign of improvement."

"Thank you," she sighed, turning toward the direction of Diego's room.

"Miss Fey," the nurse interjected, "those who are comatose are often stirred into consciousness by their loved ones. I'd like to encourage you to keep trying—it's very likely that he'll wake up soon. If you can think of anything that might bring him back, please, try it. Remember, the staff and I are at your disposal. We'll do anything we can to help your cause."

"If I could think of anything else, I would have done it by now. That doesn't mean I'm giving up though. Diego's still in there somewhere, I just know it."

Mia hollowly left, allowing her legs to propel her forward down the bright, clean hallway. The fluorescent lights burned her eyes against the stark white of the walls and tile. Everything smelled like disinfectant and medical supplies. A few precisely placed watercolors hung on either side of the hall, attempting to add color to an otherwise colorless scene. Mia inwardly smiled at the irony of this, as it was hardly a soothing ruse. Nurses in scrubs of varying hue bustled up and down the hall, scribbling down notes on paper stacked clipboards as they checked in on various patients.

Mia peered into some of the rooms as she passed, observing the more active admitted eating breakfast on small platters or watching TV from their beds. Some rooms were empty of inhabitants. Others were occupied by sleeping patients, their electrocardiograms blipping to the steady cadence of their hearts.

_"548, 550, 552..."_ Mia thought silently, marking time by the doors she passed.

"_554."_

Beneath the bold black numbers was handwritten in small print_, "Diego Alexander Armando, Coma"_.

She stopped, taking in a deep breath as she pushed open the slightly ajar door into Diego's room.

He lay peacefully in his bed, dark skinned arms perfectly slack at his sides. A feeding tube snaked along his forearm, ending abruptly where it embedded at the crook of his elbow. His chest evenly rose and fell, the machines marking each heartbeat with a quiet bleep as if to offer their soft vocalized account to his continued existence.

The room was relatively bare and quiet besides the constant drone of active machinery. A droopy vase of flowers—testament to the Grossbergs—adorned the bedside table. It added some measure of cheer to the room before the blossoms had wilted, white peony and forget-me-not petals littering the table like second-hand confetti. Linen curtains shrouded Diego from view of another bed situated near the sunlit window. Wires, tubes, switches, and buttons adorned most of Diego's partition like gaudy synthetic jewelry. Mia wondered what the purpose of each one was, as she had shared their company for months, but hadn't cared enough to ask.

The young attorney eased herself into a cream-colored chair at Diego's bedside. Her face relaxed into silent empathy as her fingertips painted an invisible line over her lover's skin. She leaned against the stainless steel guard, gingerly weaving her fingers between his own.

"It's me, I'm back. Sorry I had to leave. They only let me sleep in here for the first couple of weeks. Now I have to go home every night. I know you probably have noticed I haven't been by much. The Grossbergs made me promise I'd stop hanging around watching you sleep—though you are cute when you sleep."

Mia smiled, pausing as though awaiting a response. She softly smoothed back his graying brown hair.

At first, the discoloration had worried her, but the doctors said it was only a sign of severe physical trauma. She thought Diego would like it. He would think it made him more distinguished. But even if he woke up, he wouldn't be able to see it.

A trend of lessened responsiveness to segments of Diego's nervous system had been noted over the past month. They had all hopelessly watched as he lost feeling in sporadic patches throughout his body. Along with this, his vision had deteriorated significantly. Though the poison had been completely extricated from his system, its effects lingered on.

Pushing aside the past, Mia tried to brighten her mood.

"I miss you. I hope you can hear me right now. You know, the apartment gets pretty lonely without you. Your junk is still all over the house where you left it. And don't think you're off the hook because of this coma business, because as soon as you're awake again, you're cleaning it up," she chuckled, her merriment trailing into silence. Sighing heavily, she cradled her hands in her lap, absently picking at an uneven nail.

"Listen, Diego…I've been meaning to bring this up, but I just haven't had the courage to."

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"I know…about the ring. They found it on the floor near where you lost consciousness. Somebody saw you drop it and gave it over to the police. Since it wasn't officially evidence, well…they gave it to me. Mr. and Mrs. Grossberg explained your plans to me afterward. I know you didn't want me to find out this way, but there's a delicate matter we have to approach, Diego—your living will."

"You have no remaining immediate family or next of kin to support your hospital bills. And if you don't wake up soon, they're talking about finding someone in your extended family to help make the decision of whether or not to keep you alive."

Mia fiddled with her magatama, her eyes darting to the side.

"I wanted to tell you in person that I've made my mind up. I officially say 'yes' to your proposal. Since I can hardly bear the thought of a complete stranger deciding whether or not you live or die and I can't legally take responsibility for your expenses, I've decided…well…I…Diego…I'm going to marry you as soon as possible, if you'll have me."

"It's already settled; Mr. Grossberg told me you'd given him your half of the paperwork for safekeeping. Since it's already been notarized, all I have to do is fill out my half and send the two copies in. I know it isn't a wedding," she paused, her eyes filling with tears, "but it's good enough for me. I love you, Diego, and I want you to live so that we can have a real wedding someday. I want everybody we cherish to be there; I'm sure it will be beautiful.

"We'll even save your favorite part for last," she laughed through her tears, "I promise we'll consummate our marriage as soon as you wake up. But as far as documentation goes, we'll be fully married on paperwork. It's enough to keep you alive until you wake up. That's all that matters."

She grasped his hand tightly, kissing his knuckles. Expecting happiness, Mia was surprised to find she felt vastly empty. Only loneliness swept the cavity of her heart in an unquenchable wind.

She suddenly felt momentously overwhelmed. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She hated herself for ruining his moment—their moment. She felt like weeping and wailing, but couldn't manage either. She was completely apathetic, incapable of expressing her feelings.

"Diego…" she whispered. "I need you to answer me. Am I making the right choice? I want to help you, but is this the way…? Tell me. Please. I need your guidance."

Silence.

"Diego, wake up. Please. Wake up."

The monitors stirred persistently in the background. There were murmurs of conversation in the hallway. A breeze touched a wisp of Diego's hair as a nurse brisked by, but the man slept on.

Mia's shoulders shook in desperation. She felt her chest tightening as panic overwhelmed her. This was real. He wasn't coming back.

"Goddamn it, I need you! Please! Diego, Diego…Diego…" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Wake up…wake up…wake up…"

Her breathing spasmodic, she clawed at her bare wrists, trying to release her agony. Angry pink scratches swelled and bled as she shredded her own skin. She was encapsulated in a whirlwind of fear, stifling her, trying to push her past sanity into something foreign—more primal. Mia had finally reached her wit's end; and she was terrified.

Diego's body tensed suddenly. She noticed the unexpected movement and it startled her. Lifting her tear-streaked face, she took back an iota of control.

"Die…go…"

His eyes flew open, bloodshot and clouded, trained on her with otherworldly intensity. She met his gaze, dumbfounded and frightened. The muscles in his jaw clenched and strained, his breaths coming in ragged gusts. It seemed he was struggling for wakefulness, locked in battle against the tyrannical rule of sleep. He blinked several times, the bleeping of his heart monitor rising to match his pulse.

"Oh my God—I need a doctor! Somebody get in here," Mia screamed. She hovered helplessly over him as she stroked his face with her fingers, wiping away the cold sweat accumulating on his forehead.

"Stay with me, don't leave…we need you, I need you. Don't go again, don't go…"

Three panicked nurses swarmed the room, darting into action.

"Has he regained consciousness?" Mia pressed.

"We need to try some basic tests to see before we're sure. If you'll please step outside, Ms. Fey, we'll let you know how everything goes."

"I understand you need your space, but I have to stay with him. You don't understand."

"Ms. Fey, this isn't negotiable. If you don't leave the room immediately, we'll be forced to have you removed."

"But…"

The nurse in charge, an older African American woman in pink scrubs, gave Mia a withering look that cut her words short.

Mia's shoulders sagged as she realized she couldn't reason with the hospital workers. Shouldering her bag, she moved quietly into the hallway.

As they closed the door behind her, she overheard a nurse ask,"Mr. Armando, if you can understand me, I need you to wiggle your fingers..."

She scoffed angrily. Like he'd _listen_ to them after they'd kicked her out. She hoped they were successful in their queries, but was annoyed that she'd been bullied into submission. If Diego really was awake, she was sure there would be hell to pay later—if not from her, from him.

"_I'm an unwelcome distraction. I'd just get in their way_," Mia reasoned. Her stomach growled hungrily. _"Guess I should eat something. I doubt Diego would want me starving myself to death."_

Defeated and tired, she trudged toward the hospital's cafeteria. She felt too anxious to eat but knew food would momentarily sidetrack her attention while the nurses attended Diego.

"_Please, if there's a God, let this be real. Let him come back to me,"_ she prayed silently, hoping the nightmare would finally end.

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**A/N:** Ugh, sorry for the lame boring chapter. Needed for plot development. I didn't want them to get "officially married" either. I didn't do it for the corny factor. I did it because in all seriousness, you have to have some relation to a patient to pay for their bills--either that or the person who is liable for them has to accept that money as payment. I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. D:

Also, I'm sorry this chapter is late--I was having some Fanfiction on-site issues. My beta tried sending a chapter back and I didn't receive it. And the on-site edit/preview has some issues with certain numbers apparently.

**Song for this chapter:** _Duffy - Scared  
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